


Why you so mad, when you could be GLAAD?

by solarfemm



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Asexual Character, Genderqueer Character, Hand-wavey medicine stuff, Nurse Steve, Other, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Twink Tank, dancer bucky, do not copy to another site, one reference to domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 13:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21393181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarfemm/pseuds/solarfemm
Summary: Steve takes his hands off Bucky, but before he can cross his arms to stop from touching Bucky again, they grab Steve’s hand and squeeze. Steve feels everything around him stop and crystallize into that one perfect moment where all five-feet-ten-inches-in-boots of Bucky is smiling up at him through heavy-lidded eyes and a layer of fake eyelashes, with a twist to their mouth like maybe they do find Steve interesting, and it’s all he wants to know.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 89





	Why you so mad, when you could be GLAAD?

**Author's Note:**

> listen i spent a whole twenty minutes total googling for this fic so inaccuracies blah fart noise

Steve meets Bucky at an Extinction Rebellion, and it’s not like he’s a prude but Sam dressed him for the weather—hot as balls in summer, wonder why—and he’s wearing a shirt that says, “I’m not gonna take it unless it’s more fun to take it,” which is a good choice because Bucky reads it and throws their head back laughing.

But Steve is too struck by how beautiful they are—the part of their dark brown hair that isn’t braided cascades down their shoulders and their kohl-smudged eyes crinkle as they laugh—that he doesn’t even notice what Bucky’s laughing at. They’re wearing a “Call Me They” t-shirt, the fabric tight over their chest. 

“Did I do something funny?” Steve asks, feeling an elation bubble up in his chest that he made this person nearly fall over backward, even though he’s never met them before and he hadn’t noticed their existence before they started laughing.

“Yeah, dude. That shirt is hilarious.”

“You can have it,” Steve says, then shuts his mouth.

“What?” Bucky wipes away a tear from the corner of their eye, taking some eyeliner with it. The crowd presses in around them to listen to the speaker, but Steve imagines that they’re the only two people in existence. Might take a lot of the stress of the environment if they were. 

“Nothing. I’m Steve.”

“Bucky.”

Steve stupidly holds out his hand like a stupid idiot and a fool and Bucky takes it, smiling in a different way like they’re amused at Steve’s antics. Who shakes hands anymore anyway? People interviewing for a job, that’s who. Steve, three weeks ago, when he took on a volunteer position at the Free Clinic. And apparently Steve now, meeting Bucky. 

“Have you been to one of these before?” Steve is pulled by the need to keep Bucky’s gaze on him, but all he has are stupid rote phrases that mean nothing and aren’t interesting.

“Yeah, a couple. The hotter it gets the less I want to come, but that’s the point, right? The earth’s getting hotter because we’re not doing anything about it.” 

Bucky is jostled by a couple moving through the crowd, and Steve reaches out to steady them. 

“I think coming to these things is sending a message.”

“Exactly,” Bucky says, their gaze fond when they look at Steve this time. “That’s why I keep turning up.”

Steve takes his hands off Bucky, but before he can cross his arms to stop from touching Bucky again, they grab Steve’s hand and squeeze. Steve feels everything around him stop and crystallize into that one perfect moment where all five-feet-ten-inches-in-boots of Bucky is smiling up at him through heavy-lidded eyes and a layer of fake eyelashes, with a twist to their mouth like maybe they do find Steve interesting, and it’s all he wants to know.

Okay, so the earth is burning and humans are to blame and if they don’t fucking do something about it we’re all going to be extinct, but Steve is falling in love right now and there’s nothing stopping him from diving headfirst into it. Nothing except the movement of the crowd that pulls Bucky away from him, Bucky’s fingers sliding out of his sweaty grip in less than two seconds, swept away from each other, and Steve ends up dying a little inside just like the earth is. 

~

The thing Steve’s learned in a month of nursing is more than he’s learned in his year of graduate study and every health sciences and biology subject he took in high school. People are weird and gross and rude even when you’re giving them a free service, but occasionally they can be nice and give him mints out their handbags which Steve throws out as soon as they’re out of the room.

He’s been thinking about Bucky constantly. He can’t help himself—their meeting was chance, it’s true, but the more he thinks about it the more he convinces himself that it was meant to be, and that the universe will find some way to put them together again. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t helping the universe. He changed his Grindr profile description to “if your name is Bucky and we met at the Extinction Rebellion I would like to take you on a date” and tweeted the same thing to his 320 followers with the another tweet attached asking people to RT so he could find his one true love. No one did, so now he has left it to the universe.

And then, one day, the universe provides. 

Doctor Patricia hands him the file for James Barnes and when Steve reads the name out to the waiting room, he catches sight of Bucky again. 

His breath freezes in his throat and a relief so intense the need to sit down washes over him. He doesn’t, though—sit down. He cracks a smile through his relief and stops Bucky in their tracks.

“Hey. Oh, wow, it’s so weird. I was just thinking about you.” Shut _up_ Rogers. 

Bucky’s expression crinkles up into puzzlement and they scrunch their nose, which is just about the cutest thing Steve’s ever seen. “Well that’s creepy.”

“No! Not in a—” He looks down to see that the knee of Bucky’s jeans is torn and it’s bleeding all over the denim. “—right, sorry. You were here to see a doctor.”

Bucky limps as Steve ushes them into the room, which is just big enough for Bucky, Steve and the resident Doctor Patricia watching his every move. She’s taken the spinny chair, so Steve just stands again like he has all day. Bucky eases themselves up on the table, their jewelry jingling with the movement. 

Steve motions for Bucky to take off their pants. “Let’s have a look then. What happened?”

“I fell of my friend’s motorcycle.”

“I used to have a motorcycle,” Steve says, just to make conversation. “Chopper. Big apehangers.”

Bucky’s mouth twitches with a smile, so Steve counts that as his first win of the day. 

Steve glances at Bucky’s file again and sees something that makes him pause. “For gender, you ticked ‘male’ and ‘female’.”

Bucky shrugs, tilting their chin up as if waiting for Steve to argue that they shouldn’t have. “There was no ‘other’ option.”

“Right.” Steve says, as professional as he can be. “Let’s take a look at this knee.”

While Bucky lies down on the table to undo their jeans, pushing them down past the torn-up knee, Steve washes his hands and grabs a pair of gloves. “I’m allergic to anaesthesia, so don’t use it.”

Steve, having read that in their file, nods, sitting down on the stool and wheeling it over to the bed. “You should’ve gone to the emergency room,” Steve chides as he takes a look.

Bucky snorts, but manages to make it cute. “So they can give me a bandaid and charge me a hundred dollars? No thanks.”

Steve takes the gauze and cleaning solution Doctor Patricia hands him and gets to work cleaning the wound. It’s crusted over with old blood but seems to have stopped bleeding. It’s probably weird but Steve loves this part, cleaning someone up just to get a look at whatever wound he’s dealing with. Bucky takes it like a champ, seeming to barely notice that they’re hurt.

“What happened to your motorcycle?”

“Had to sell it to pay for my degree.”

“That’s a shame.” They’re talking in a low tone, their voice more like a hum than anything else. It’s so pleasant, and Steve wants to keep them talking just to listen to it. Steve asks them some more questions, standard, and listens to their voice the whole time.

Once the wound is clean, Steve grabs the materials he needs to suture it.

“Wait,” Bucky says, putting a hand on Steve’s arm. “What kind of thread are you using?”

“Ah,” Steve says, glancing at Doctor Patricia. “Monocryl?”

She nods. “It’s a synthetic polymer. It’s not made from catgut.”

Bucky breathes out a sigh and motions for Steve to continue. “Okay. That’s fine.”

“Okay?” Steve asks with a smile, and Bucky nods. “Okay, I’m just going to sew you up.” Bucky nods again, and Steve starts suturing. “What were you doing on a motorcycle?”

“My friend’s friend was giving me a lift back home and we turned a corner too sharply.” Bucky leans back on their elbows to watch. 

Steve tries to focus on what he’s doing instead of looking at Bucky, but he sneaks a couple of glances to see Bucky looking down at him—at him, not at what he’s doing. He feels naked under that gaze. “You live in Brooklyn, right?”

“Yeah. Park Slope.”

“I live in Flatbush.”

“I’m staying in a friend’s spare room. Technically I’m not on the lease so don’t tell anyone.”

Steve gives them a reassuring smile. “I won’t. Is it still hurting now?”

Bucky shrugs. “Nah, it’s fine.”

Steve finishes pulling the needle through the last stitch and knots it, then grabs the gauze to wrap it up. Bucky watches him still, that curious gaze making Steve sweat, his eyes so big and blue. 

“Were you hoping to run into me again?” Bucky asks, his tone as curious as his gaze but with a hint of humor underneath it.

“Yeah, I was,” Steve says. He can feel his collar grow hot. “I even tweeted about you hoping you would see it. Long shot, I know.”

Bucky laughs that wonderful laugh. “What’s your Twitter handle?”

Steve’s Irish heritage does nothing for him and he feels himself turn bright red. He finishes quickly and turns to Doctor Patricia, who is looking amused. 

“Well, Steve,” she asks, taking too much delight in this situation, “what is your Twitter handle?”

“CaptainGrumps, all one word,” Steve says in a rush. 

Bucky immediately pulls out their phone. “Great, I just followed you.” Steve feels his phone buzz in his pocket. “Now you don’t have to wait for the stars to align for us to see each other again.”

Steve clears his throat. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so. I landed on my arm but my jacket is thicker than my jeans.”

“Let’s have a look.”

Bucky takes off their jacket, thick, dark green canvas material, like they got it from the Army Surplus store, ripped in places that Steve isn’t sure are entirely on purpose. Maybe it is. There is so much about Bucky that Steve doesn’t know, wants to know, and is desperate to find out. They pull their arm out, the same side as their knee, and show it to Steve.

“Is this the arm you fell on?”

Bucky nods. “Hurt like a motherfucker, too.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you fall off a motorcycle.”

The bruises on their arm are swollen and purple, but that’s the extent of the damage. Steve inspects them carefully, making sure none of the skin is broken, but it seems like the jacket protected Bucky well. 

“All good?”

“Yep,” Steve says. He thinks desperately of something to say to keep Bucky there. “Did you hurt your side or anywhere else?”

“Nah,” Bucky says, smirking at him. “I’ll be okay.”

Steve’s clears his throat. “Okay, the bandage will be okay for about a day or two, so try not to get it wet. Come back after that so we can reapply it and see if it’s healing properly. Or before then, if it starts to discharge and smell.” Steve tosses his gloves in the bin and pushes his stool back to give Bucky room. 

“Aye aye, Nurse Steve, sir.” Bucky swings their legs off the bed and pulls their jeans up, their jewellery jingling again as they pull themselves together. “I’ll tweet you sometime.” Bucky tests their knee out by walking to the door, their face lit up with a smile when they reach it, like it’s made their day, and if Steve can’t feel proud about that then he doesn’t know what he should. “It’s been real.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Steve says, then to cover himself, “in case you fall over.”

Bucky smirks again but doesn’t object. As expected, they’re still limping and Steve finds it hard to keep his hands to himself and not on Bucky’s arms to steady them again. 

The waiting room is still full of people, some brushing past him as their names are called out, but Steve can’t keep his eyes off Bucky. They turn to him when they reach the door to the clinic, the both of them standing awkwardly while Bucky fiddles with the hem of their jacket and Steve tries to keep his hands to himself and not tuck an errant strand of Bucky’s long hair behind their ear. 

“Thank you,” Bucky says, an earnestness to their tone that wasn’t there before. “I know it’s your job, but it means a lot.”

“Well, it’s lucky you only had a busted knee and not impacted bowels.”

Bucky laughs again, that delightful sound that Steve could fall in love with if he doesn’t stop himself, and Bucky takes his hand and squeezes it. Steve feels like the world shifts beneath him again, as if she’s crying in her death throes and making him aware that she knows what he’s doing and she doesn’t approve. 

_Steve Rogers_, she says, with a voice that sounds eerily like his mother, _are you really about to ask out a patient, who doesn’t even have a fixed address, while you’re at work?_

No, he decides, as Bucky exits the clinic and his life again. He’s not going to do that, because it would be unprofessional, and Bucky might feel indebted to him instead of wanting it themselves. He watches them go and gets back to work.

A couple hours later when Steve finishes his shift, he gets a tweet from Bucky as though they knew he was done. 

**buckyyyyyy** @buckybuchanan  
really nice seeing u again. wish it was under better circumstances. should we catch up sometime or is that completely out of the rules of patient/nurse communication?

Steve breathes a sigh of relief that they’re the one to bring it up. 

**Steve G.** @CaptainGrumps  
I think it’s fine? I’ll just have someone else treat you next time.

**Steve G.** @CaptainGrumps  
But I can definitely treat you to dinner, if you’re up for it. I just got off my shift.

**buckyyyyyy** @buckybuchanan  
not sure I want to go to dinner with someone who uses terrible puns

**buckyyyyyy** @buckybuchanan  
just kidding, i’d luv to

Steve heart soars just reading the messages, so he rushes home quickly to shower and pull on some clothes that aren’t scrubs and don’t smell like a combination of sweat, blood, antiseptic and shit. 

Sam’s already sacked out on the couch watching Community reruns with a glazed look on his face that says he’s been watching his computer for too long.

He turns to Steve with a yawn. “Where are you going in that much of a hurry?”

“I have—a date, I guess?” Steve pulls his last clean shirt on only to realise it’s one of Sam’s crop tops, and he almost goes with it before he stops himself. As hot as it is, he doesn’t want to look like he’s trying too hard the first time he and Bucky see each other deliberately, and he’s not sure he has the confidence to pull it off.

“All right, then,” Sam says sleepily.

He only realises the next shirt he pulls on is one of Sam’s when he’s halfway down the street and already late.

~

The place Bucky pics out turns out to be the only food truck in Brooklyn that does veggie hotdogs and changes location every day.

“The only way you can find it is through clues on their Instagram page,” Bucky says, before they bite into their hotdog and spill onion everywhere. “It doesn’t even have a name.”

Steve takes a bite of his own hotdog, and he would swear it tastes like the real thing. “What’s their Instagram handle?”

“anonfoodtruck,” Bucky says, laughing at Steve’s pained expression. They laugh a lot. It’s amazing.

“So it does have a name then.” 

Bucky indicated the side of the van, as if that’s the answer to all of Steve’s problems. Steve only has one problem, and it’s how fast he can skip from the flirting to the making out part of the evening. “Can you see a name?”

“I see lots of names. ‘Burger’, ‘Fries’, ‘Corndog’, ‘Hotdog’,” Steve says, and Bucky’s still laughing. They’re beautiful lit up by the glow of the street lamps, but Steve supposes they’re always beautiful. Excellent bone structure, beautiful nose, and perfectly symmetrical face—that’ll do it. Their hair is tucked up into a bun on the top of their head, some strands fallen down, and Steve wonders if they do that on purpose or if they really are that dishevelled. 

They start walking down the street, which is hard for Steve because he wants to keep looking at Bucky but he also needs to see where he’s going. He manages somehow to keep his eyes ahead, still taking bites of his hotdog.

“How’s the knee?”

“Oh, you know,” Bucky says, cryptically, then continues at Steve’s puzzled expression. “It’s fine. Feeling better every minute.”

“If you’re sure,” Steve says. Bucky is still limping slightly but if they’re fine with it Steve’s not going to push. 

“Did you grow up around here?”

Steve nods, mouth full before he chews enough to swallow. “Bushwick.”

Bucky gives him a smile that makes Steve’s heart flutter. “I grew up in Brooklyn Heights.”

“So you’re living with a friend?”

Bucky’s expression turns pained. “Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, sure. What do you want to talk about?”

Bucky shrugs, their jacket bunching up. The jacket, the hair, the black and gold jewellery, and the eyeliner create a look similar to the burnouts who made fun of Steve in high school, but instead of giving him horror flashbacks, he finds Bucky intriguing. “The meaning of life?”

Steve mulls that over. He hasn’t given much thought to the meaning of things since his mother died a couple years back, but he’s not about to bring that up and ruin the mood. Or worse, make Bucky sad. “Do you think there is one?” 

“I don’t know, honestly. We’re born, we eat, we shit, we cry, we die. There’s gotta be some meaning to it, right? Otherwise it seems like a waste.” 

They stop at a trash can to throw their trash away, before they keep walking without any real destination in mind. It’s nice just to be with someone. Steve doesn’t have that many people in his life aside from Sam, and when Sam’s not working at his office he’s usually helping out at Camba so they don’t get to spend a lot of time together.

“Well, you know what Monty Python say.”

“‘No one expects the Spanish Inquisition’?”

“‘Always look on the bright side of life’.”

Bucky rolls their eyes and shoves Steve to keep him moving. “All right, wise guy.”

Somehow they end up in Park Slope outside a building that looks partly demolished and Bucky stops, hands in their pockets. “Well, this is me.” Steve stares, horrified. He just wants to pick them up and carry them back to his own apartment, because Bucky cannot seriously be living here. 

“Jesus, Buck. It’s falling down.”

Bucky shrugs again. “Well, you know. We all have our lot in life.”

Steve bites back on the thing he wants to say, which is _how can you stand to live here_, because it would only insult Bucky, and Steve wants them to like him. But Steve grew up in shitty tenements his entire childhood and he knows the value of having a solid roof over his head, something his mom fought tooth and nail to provide for him when she could.

Bucky blows out a breath and scratches the back of their neck. “Well, goodnight.”

They start walking to their building, and now would be a good chance to say something suave that makes Bucky remember him, but Steve can’t think of anything. Maybe he should say anything, ask if he can kiss them, so Bucky will look at him again, but he can’t get the words out. 

“Goodnight,” he calls, too late. Bucky’s already gone inside. 

Steve mentally kicks himself the whole way home, already composing a smooth as fuck message in his head, something with a lot of doleful emojis. 

~

Steve spends the next few days purposefully not posting on Twitter, in case he wants to claim plausible deniability if Bucky wants to know where he is and why he hasn’t messaged. He hasn’t messaged because nothing suave or cool or interesting comes to mind, and he doesn’t want to scare Bucky off. He tries to focus on work, because there’s only so many times he can scroll through Bucky’s media tag at the pictures they’ve uploaded of themselves and their red-headed friend falling asleep in Prospect Park. 

Thankfully, work is demanding enough, but in one day he sees a 64-year-old man who fell down his apartment building’s stairs, a seven-year-old girl who fainted in the room, and two domestic violence victims, all of whom he had to refer to the hospital. It’s a long day, and by the time 11 o’clock rolls around and his shift ends, he’s too exhausted to walk home. 

Sam answers on the first ring, like Steve knew he would. Sam always has his phone on him, because he never knows if his sister might call, and he’s the only person who can calm her down from a panic attack. 

“You scared the shit out of me, Rogers.”

“What were you doing?”

“Watching The Babadook.”

“At 11 o’clock at night? You idiot.”

“Did you call just to tell me I’m an idiot?”

“Yes, and would you mind coming to pick me up?”

“Hard shift?”

“You could say that.”

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

They hang up and Steve takes a seat on the bench outside the clinic parking lot. His head buzzes with thoughts of the day he’s had, but after a couple minutes of anxiously stewing he lets it all go. He has to be able to, because otherwise he’d never survive in this profession. 

He knows what he’s doing is important, which is why he does it, why he loves doing it. He gets to meet interesting people, learn about their lives, and help them. Maybe he has a saviour complex, as has been pointed out many times by many people, but in this case isn’t that a good thing? He doesn’t want to _save_ Bucky from his life, but—he wants to help Bucky out of their situation. He wants to make everything okay for them. 

His phone buzzes in his hand as he’s waiting to see a message from Bucky that’s popped up, and Steve’s spirits lift immediately. 

**buckyyyyyy** @buckybuchanan  
you kind of left things a bit frosty the other night. i was hoping you’d sweep me off my feet 

**Steve G.**  
I guess my skills are rusty. 

**Steve G.** @CaptainGrumps  
Would you allow me to make it up to you sometime? 

**buckyyyyyy** @buckybuchanan  
what do you have in mind?

**Steve G.** @CaptainGrumps  
Is going to the movies too lame?

**buckyyyyyy** @buckybuchanan  
i’m sure we could make it fun

Steve is torn out of his conversation by Sam pulling up in the parking lot, the engine of his car revving to get Steve’s attention. His bright orange Camaro is too flashy for Steve’s tastes, but he has to admit that Sam looks cool driving it. 

“What’s up?” Sam asks as Steve gets in the passenger seat. “You’re looking better than you sounded ten minutes ago.”

“Feeling better,” Steve says as Sam pulls out of the parking lot. “I have another date.”

“Okay then, keep secrets from me.” Sam pretends to be miffed. “I’m only your best friend, not that it matters.”

“No, really, I have a date.”

They stop for a red light and Sam looks over at Steve, impressed. “Well, look at you, loverboy.”

Steve feels a bubble of pride expand in his chest, and looks down at his phone to read through the messages again. So Bucky doesn’t hate him. That’s another win.

~

Steve’s not good at this. That much should be apparent by how badly he’s doing at it, but aside from brief flings, he’s only been in one long-term relationship and that was started in high school. Sharon’s lovely, and he’s grateful to call her a friend, but she had her sights set way higher than a Poli-Sci major dropout. Last time he checked she was working cyber security at the CIA. It was never going to work between them—not for any fault of Sharon’s, but because Steve didn’t believe in himself or their relationship enough to make it work.

He feels the need to call her now, to ask her how she worked her way into his heart so effortlessly, so that he can do the same for Bucky. 

But he doesn’t. He just gels his hair back the right amount to keep it wavy but make it stay in place, and pulls on a shirt that he knows is his.

They meet outside the cinema, Steve running a little late and Bucky leaning with their foot against the building wall, shoulder bag hanging off their elbow, the picture of insouciance. They’re not even smoking or looking at their phone. They’re just watching the people on the street. Steve wishes he could look that cool while doing nothing. 

They’re wearing a different jacket this time, something that wouldn’t look too out of place on a Victorian character cosplayer at a literary convention, and jeans without rips in them. 

Bucky brightens when they spot Steve, and Steve feels a thrill. If someone like Bucky wants to be around him, that must mean he’s special, right?

That’s probably why his last few flings didn’t turn into relationships. Nobody thinks that a guy who’s six-foot-two and has this many muscles can be that insecure, but that’s the truth, and Steve can’t go around trying to convince everyone that he’s someone worth dating if he doesn’t feel it himself.

But with Bucky—it’s different with Bucky. Steve wants to be good enough. He wants to be enough.

When Bucky spots him, they immediately pull him in and lean up to kiss his cheek. They’re wearing a gold headband that pushes their hair out of their face and minimal makeup today, and Steve loves the look just as much as he’s loved all of Bucky’s looks.

“You made it,” Bucky says, as if thinking maybe Steve wouldn’t.

“Of course. I couldn’t stand you up on a date I made myself.” Steve can feel the press of Bucky’s lips on his cheek even after Bucky pulls away. They put their arm through Steve’s and lead the way into the theatre, and Steve is grounded by the touch even if it’s through a layer of clothing. How Bucky can stand to wear a jacket in heat like this is beyond Steve; it’s just another Bucky thing to like. “Do you want to get snacks?”

“Nope,” Bucky says, grinning. “I brought my own.”

They pay for their tickets and head up to their cinema, Bucky’s arm in Steve’s the whole time. Even when they struggle through the seated crowd to get to their own, their hand stays on his arm, and when they get settled in their seats, Bucky indeed does have snacks on them. They pull out two cans of Dr Pepper, a family-sized bag of Lays, and a packet of Skittles. 

“You really did prepare.”

“Yep. If the power goes out and people start _Purge_-ing each other, I’ll have food to last me for days.”

“What about me?”

“Oh, you’ll be the first to go, for sure.”

“Wow, thanks,” Steve says, but he’s laughing.

“It’s a compliment. They’ll see you as a threat and want to take you out so you don’t take _them_ out or compete for resources.”

“Well, that makes sense.”

“I only speak the truth.”

They talk through the previews but Bucky hushes Steve once the movie starts. He doesn’t mind it, and spends most of the first part of the movie watching Bucky’s reactions instead of what’s happening on screen. At least until Bucky pushes the armrest up and leans into Steve, making themselves comfortable with their head on his shoulder. Steve feels his heart jump into his throat and tries to keep calm about it.

He mostly succeeds, but when Bucky finishes the bag of chips and wipe their hands off on their jeans, they take Steve’s hand and thread their fingers through his. Steve spends the last half hour of the movie as still as possible as he sweats through the AC, his hand warming his Dr Pepper. 

He barely notices when the movie finishes except Bucky is sitting up and stretching, packing all the garbage into their bag, and Steve is still too struck to move. It’s only when Bucky stands up that Steve remembers he’s supposed to do something, and stands to follow them out of the cinema.

“Can you believe Jennifer Lopez is fifty? I want a body like that.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, because he can’t name a single thing that happened in that movie. “She’s in great shape.”

They make their way out into the muggy, late afternoon sun with the rush of people from the cinema. Bucky meanders along the sidewalk and Steve follows them, stepping out of the way of the people coming in the opposite direction, but always staying near Bucky.

“What did you like about it?”

“The movie? Um, I really—ah.”

Bucky laughs. “Did you fall asleep?” 

Steve steps into place beside them and Bucky immediately takes his arm again. “Um, no, I wasn’t asleep. I was distracted.”

“By what?”

Steve’s glad they’re not looking at each other, glad that instead of watching where the two of them are going Bucky is so short they have to look up into Steve’s face. “You?”

“Me? Am I that distracting that you would rather look at me than JLo’s abs?”

“Well, yeah.” That sounds about right. Steve’s an idiot and corny but at least he’s honest.

“Oh.” Bucky sounds taken aback, but also a little bit hopeful. “Well, that’s a nicer compliment than ‘you wouldn’t survive _The Purge_’.”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

Both of them walk in silence for another minute, and the tension builds between them despite the leisurely pace they’ve set, Bucky still clinging onto Steve’s arm and leaning into him. Steve wants to kiss them so badly he can feel it in his teeth.

“How’s your leg, by the way?”

Bucky shrugs and Steve can feel the movement against his arm. “Fighting fit. I think you fixed it up nicely. The scars are already fading.”

“Great. That’s great.” Steve can’t think of anything else to say. He’s always been terrible with people after shutting himself up in his home most of the time. The person he sees the most is Doctor Patricia, now that he’s at the clinic five days out of seven. “Another satisfied customer.”

“That’s me. I’m very satisfied.” Bucky says it with a hint of coquettishness in their voice, and now it’s Steve’s turn to blush.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “I guess we’ve just been wandering around.”

“Do you want to go to Prospect Park?” Steve suggests, and it sounds lame to his own ears but he can sit with Bucky on the grass and maybe stare up at the sky and lie with them for a while. 

“Not really. Do you want to go to mine?”

“Yes,” Steve says immediately, and they come to a stop near the curb to flag down a taxi. 

Steve’s whole body thrums with intent the entire ride back to Bucky’s, despite how Bucky is making conversation and staying dutifully to their side of the backseat. Steve wants to touch them again, wants Bucky to touch him and feel how wired he is just from the thought of it. 

“I’m thinking of going to college but I’m not sure. It’s years of my life and I’m bad at commitment.”

“Yeah, you’re talking to someone who’s only long-term relationship was with his high school sweetheart that ended when she became a CIA agent.”

Bucky laughs openly, and Steve will never get over that sound. He doesn’t want to. “A super cop? Oh man, looks like you dodged a bullet.” The sun is starting to set and casts an orange glow through the car windows that falls onto Bucky’s face. Steve can’t help staring. 

Steve pays for the cab and follows Bucky up the stairs into their apartment. Just because Bucky lives there doesn’t mean Steve feels any less like it’s going to fall down around them, but it hasn’t so far, so that’s something. Bucky’s on the third floor and has their own keys, opening the door to reveal an apartment that’s nicer than the building warrants, full of vibrant colours and paintings on the walls. 

“My friend’s name is Natasha. She’s renting this place and let me stay in her guest room.”

“Nice place,” Steve says, following Bucky in. They pass the kitchen with its huge fridge, brightly coloured and mismatched appliances, and strangely-shaped utensils sitting in a basket on the counter, past the breakfast window, and down the hall towards Bucky’s room. 

It’s not as brightly coloured as the rest of the apartment, but the muted greys of the bedspread and deep red of the carpet match Bucky’s aesthetic. They toss their jacket over a chair that’s already piled high with other jackets. The bed is just two mattresses on the floor.

“So,” Bucky says, leaning against the wall next to their computer desk.

Steve shrugs. “So. What did you bring me over here for?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits, looking like they mean it, a little lost at their own boldness. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, launching himself off the door frame to where Bucky’s leaning, “I do.”

Their first kiss is the kind of kiss Steve’s wanted all his life and never had. He was with Sharon before he knew what it was to really want someone in a fundamental way, and his fumblings in nursing school have been few and far between. 

But this—this is a kiss. It’s chaste at first. Bucky’s lips are soft and plush against his own, and they open willingly for him when he teases them with his tongue. Bucky gasps into it, pressing their own tongue to Steve’s, and it’s even better now that he can taste what Bucky tastes and feel what Bucky feels. Their tongue is even softer than their lips, slipping easily into Steve’s mouth like it belongs there, and Steve wants them, wants all of them. 

He takes Bucky by their tiny waist and leans them back into the wall, the bun on the back of their head squashing against it, getting his hands under their thighs to lift them up. They come up so easily that Steve goes light headed. Sure, he can deadlift a significant amount of weight, but Bucky weighs practically nothing, and their legs wrap around his waist so easily. Steve wonders if they would want him to throw them around, if they would want to rough him up. 

“Wait, Steve,” Bucky says, pulling away but groaning like they don’t want to. “I’m not—I don’t like sex.”

“Oh,” Steve says, a little thrown. He doesn’t usually fuck on the first or second date anyway, at least not with someone he wants to be in a relationship with. “That’s—that’s fine. What do you like?”

“Kissing is good.” 

“Okay, we’ll keep kissing then.” 

This time when they kiss, Bucky’s hands come up to cup Steve’s face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones so softly. Steve feels like Bucky is unmaking him so tenderly and Steve doesn’t even mind, thinking how lovely it would be, to be unmade by these hands. Then Bucky curls the fingers of one hand around Steve’s ear while the others play with the short hairs at the back of his neck, like Steve is something that needs to be handled carefully, and Bucky is the person to do it. Steve gasps at the touch.

He doesn’t know how long they make out for—twenty minutes maybe, ten, an hour. By the time they break apart the sun has gone down a little bit more and twilight is starting to set in. All he knows is how right it feels to kiss Bucky, like he’s never done anything right in his life except this. He’s an intense person, and he doesn’t do things by halves, so it would only make sense that he throws himself into this relationship with the same fervor. 

Eventually he puts Bucky down, stepping away in case Bucky wants space, in case Steve’s intensity is too much for them and they need it. But Bucky puts their arms around Steve’s waist and their face in Steve’s neck, and they’re just tall enough that Steve can rest his chin on the top of their head, on top of their headband. He can smell their coconut shampoo and feel the heat of them pressed against him, which is nice. It’s nice. It’s lovely. It’s everything he’s wanted. 

“Thank you,” Bucky says as they turn their head to get the words out, their voice soft, lilting.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. For not running for the hills, I guess. A lot of guys I meet just want to fuck.”

“You’ve been meeting the wrong guys then.”

“Yeah. At least they’re honest.”

Steve starts to pet their hair and they make a noise of contentment that reverberates through his chest and gets trapped there for Steve to pull out of himself later, to remind him that whatever else happens he has this. 

He realises then he doesn’t actually know that much about Bucky. He knows that Bucky can eat an entire an entire family-sized bag of Bar-B-Que Lays, but he has no idea what they actually do with their time. “Can I ask you some questions?”

Bucky pulls back with a guarded look on their face. “Are we playing the get-to-know-you game?”

Steve shrugs. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“How about we sit down first?”

“Sure.” They move to the bed, which is more comfortable than it looks for two mattresses piled on top of each other, and Bucky sits cross legged while Steve leans against the wall with his calves crossed. 

Bucky takes their hair out and shakes it, rippling in waves down their chest and shoulders. It’s longer than Steve expected it to be, but it’s soft and beautiful and looks like if Steve wanted to run his hands thought it he could. “Okay, shoot.”

“Do you have a job?”

“I do. I’m part of a dance group.” 

No wonder they’re so tiny. “How did you manage with the knee?”

“I took a couple of days off, but it’s better now. Scout’s honour. See?” They stretch their knee out and bend it again to show Steve their flexibility. 

“You were in the Scouts?”

“No, I was in cadets. I thought I wanted to join the army like my dad, but then I found out how fucked the military is. My parents almost sent me to a military school, because I spent more time dancing and lip-syncing to Britney than they were comfortable with.” 

Bucky smiles to ease the tension and deflect the question Steve can tell they don’t want him to ask. 

“Her albums are all hits, so that’s normal for any ‘90s kid.” 

Bucky smiles wider, tension broken. “Can I ask you some questions?”

Steve sighs. “You know, suddenly I don’t like this game.”

“Don’t like divulging all your secrets?”

“You could say that.”

Bucky shuffles over to sit against the wall next to him, and the press of them against Steve’s shoulder is a warm weight. Their eyes are shockingly blue this close up, an ocean for Steve to drown in. His heart hasn’t slowed since the cinema and its beat is palpable even now, especially after making out for so long, and while he thought he would get used to being around Bucky it hasn’t happened yet. 

He doesn’t want to leave though. He wants to stay in this weird apartment in this crumbling building with Bucky while the world moves on outside, the shadows swallow the sun, and darkness catches them in its grip. 

“What made you want to become a nurse?”

It’s not like he never sees this question coming, but Steve doesn’t want to tell the whole story just yet, so he gives Bucky the abridged version without citations because who has time for that. “I started off wanting to be a politician, but formal education has never really been my strong suit, and social services always seemed so removed from the action. I decided I could help people in a better way by patching them up. So at 26 I’m studying to be a nurse.”

“I think it’s pretty admirable. So is running into burning buildings, which I can assume you also wanted to do.”

“Yeah, that didn’t occur to me until I’d already started at SUNY.”

Bucky scrunches their nose up. “One more question.”

“Oh, good,” Steve says, and his relief isn’t faked. He’s not sure how much he actually wants to divulge and he certainly doesn’t want to lie to Bucky.

“I really like you.”

“Me too.”

“Do you want to be my datemate?”

Steve laughs a little at the word but Bucky is serious, their eyes cool but their gaze warm. “Yeah, I really do. Do you want to be mine?”

“Yeah.”

So, yeah, the earth is probably in her death throes and the way humanity is going about it isn't sustainable, but they at least have this, right now. Steve kisses them again, another chaste kiss, and pictures himself getting used to it, kissing Bucky every day of his life. It would be a fortunate life.


End file.
